


Faithful

by thedevilchicken



Category: Knightfall (TV 2017)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hope, M/M, Post-Canon, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Talus and Landry take shelter in a monastery's hayloft.
Relationships: Landry du Lauzon/Talus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	Faithful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yujacheong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/gifts).



There's a certain unexpected level of serenity in seeing life from the far side of a disaster, and that's how Talus feels now. 

He believes it won't last, because their enemy is the King of France and even if that king is Louis now and not his father, he can't believe that makes them safe. Not for long, at least, and almost certainly not forever. This monastery halfway along the road from Paris to Rome can't be their sanctuary for longer than it takes for them to rest their horses, then they'll move on because Talus knows, and he knows Landry knows, that their presence puts their shelterers in danger. Their new pope killed the Templars, after all, so what a few monks to him?

Landry's mother's with them now. Talus brought her to him after Paris, as he'd promised him in a quieter moment, and in her way she's taking care of the child in ways she never cared for him. They have the wet nurse, too, who understands that she can't leave because her proximity to them would be a danger even if she left them now. Talus knows Landry would like to free her of that, but he has no mechanism by which to do so. For all he's acted like he's God on Earth, he's not. He's proved himself more fallible than any of them. 

The child is with Landry's mother and the nurse, in a room inside the monastery where they have a bed, and candles, and likely a damn sight more warmth than either of them has out here. They're what's left of their ragtag band, making their way who knows where, sleeping in a monastery stable by a small church on the outskirts of a town whose name he can't remember. And it's cold outside, and it's cold inside, cold enough that as the sun begins to rise he can see his breath on the air, and the horses' breath, and he's vaguely aware that they should go inside for prime, but he closes his eyes as the bells ring outside. 

"Not feeling much like prayer, brother?" Landry asks. 

"Not feeling much like the winter air, _brother_ ," Talus replies. "There was never so much snow in the holy land, that's for fucking sure." 

Landry snorts, and shifts, and the hay they're lying on in the loft over the horses' stalls crinkles underneath him. It's more comfortable than the ground, Talus thinks, but tough stalks of hay stick in in places. It's better than waking shivering, with a blanket half frozen into creases that you have to beat with your sheathed sword to give it back some slack. 

But he's still cold, even in his armour, even underneath what blankets the monks could spare them, even with the hay he's spread on top of himself like insulation from the frost. His teeth still chatter. His fingers still feel close to numb inside his gloves. 

He hears Landry move again. He hears him move closer, hears the hay shift, feels one hand in a thick leather glove run over his stomach. When Landry nudges him up onto his side, he follows his lead. When Landry moves in close to press his chest to his back, he doesn't do much more than mutter his token complaint that Landry either doesn't hear or doesn't credit. He supposed it doesn't matter which.

When Landry wraps his arm around his waist and settles close beneath their blankets, Talus closes his eyes and lets himself be warmed. When Landry moves that arm to remove his glove - with a one-eyed glance he sees him bite the forefinger tip between his teeth and pull, he pretends he hasn't noticed. And when Landry runs his hand, that's somehow still retained more warmth than Talus' skin, under his belt and between his thighs, he doesn't stop him. 

"Not feeling much like prayer?" Talus asks, and he's not sure if he's mocking Landry or himself. 

"I think I've had enough of prayer for two lifetimes," Landry replies. "I think I'll seek God where I find him." 

When Landry wraps his hand around him, he doesn't say stop. He gasps, takes a breath that's full of hay and horse and blood and who the fuck knows what else besides, and lets the prime bell ring. 

His faith's never warmed him the way Landry does now, slow and firm and almost tender. His faith's never pressed a hot mouth to his chilly neck and made him shiver. He wonders if he can still believe in God while he lets Landry touch him, for the first time, though he feels a promise there of more. He's not sure if that's God or the devil, but he's willing to find out.

Sometimes he looks back at King Philip did and feels a sense of calm knowing that it's past. They've lived through it, though so many didn't. 

And maybe that calm won't last. But as the winter sun begins to shine, as Landry presses close, he finds it in himself to hope it will.


End file.
